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LM & Partnership & Dogs & My Work
May. 24th, 2009 10:58 amI have been very grateful for all the support I've received from friends as I've grieved LM, but sometimes I've had to bite my tongue and force a smile when someone -- usually an offline friend who isn't fully aware of the spiritual aspect of our bond -- makes a loving comment to the effect of You won't love someone else the same way you loved him, but you'll love someone else in a new way and it will be equally wonderful.
I don't necessarily rule that out -- the universe has surprised me before -- but I'm not counting on it. And usually the person speaking to me has no idea of the profound depth of the connection between LM and me. Our culture likes to talk about "soul mates" -- but the reality of it goes far beyond anything I've been able to find words for. I've been blessed by a number of passionate loves in my life; I know what it's like to love different men in different ways and find happiness with them. This is not in the same league.
Last week my friend Kay put an entirely different spin on the "You'll find someone new" offer of comfort. We were talking not about the grief of LM's death, but about my only-recently-recognized grief I've been feeling about the loss of the three-way partnership with him and Michael. After being a contented loner for most of my life, I had been utterly unprepared for how rich and comforting life could be with true partners: the companionship, the support, the sharing of the day-to-day chores, the trust that someone had my back, that I didn't have to be the only grown-up. I had come to believe they would be with me for the rest of my life. Finding myself utterly alone again was devastating -- and I had to work through all that grief again during my recent move.
I was talking to Kay about this, and she assured me that not only did LM want me to be happy, but he would bring me a new partner because he knew exactly what I needed. In fact, she had absolute faith that because of this conversation he was even now getting right to work on that.
And where did she get her conviction about this? From her experience with her dogs. She explained that she had a soul connection with her dogs and that when one died, he would send another to her, unless she specifically asked him not to -- because sometimes she just wasn't ready for a new dog to enter her life.
I sat there and stared at her and tried to find an appropriate way to respond. I don't doubt that she has a deep connection with her dogs. I'm not even going to doubt that they -- or some spirit who blesses this aspect of her life -- facilitates the arrival of a new dear companion for her. But I had to struggle to not be offended by her equating my soul marriage with LM to a relationship with a pet.
She went on to insist -- firmly and lovingly -- that just because I could do fine on my own didn't mean that I should. My ability to take care of myself wasn't in question. The issue was my being able to once again experience the joy and comfort of partnership.
I let her talk, and I was gracious, but I continued to feel deep resistance.
It was only later that I realized that my resistance had more to it than my sense of allergic reaction to sharing myself or my life with another man.
( Visions of the Future )
I don't necessarily rule that out -- the universe has surprised me before -- but I'm not counting on it. And usually the person speaking to me has no idea of the profound depth of the connection between LM and me. Our culture likes to talk about "soul mates" -- but the reality of it goes far beyond anything I've been able to find words for. I've been blessed by a number of passionate loves in my life; I know what it's like to love different men in different ways and find happiness with them. This is not in the same league.
Last week my friend Kay put an entirely different spin on the "You'll find someone new" offer of comfort. We were talking not about the grief of LM's death, but about my only-recently-recognized grief I've been feeling about the loss of the three-way partnership with him and Michael. After being a contented loner for most of my life, I had been utterly unprepared for how rich and comforting life could be with true partners: the companionship, the support, the sharing of the day-to-day chores, the trust that someone had my back, that I didn't have to be the only grown-up. I had come to believe they would be with me for the rest of my life. Finding myself utterly alone again was devastating -- and I had to work through all that grief again during my recent move.
I was talking to Kay about this, and she assured me that not only did LM want me to be happy, but he would bring me a new partner because he knew exactly what I needed. In fact, she had absolute faith that because of this conversation he was even now getting right to work on that.
And where did she get her conviction about this? From her experience with her dogs. She explained that she had a soul connection with her dogs and that when one died, he would send another to her, unless she specifically asked him not to -- because sometimes she just wasn't ready for a new dog to enter her life.
I sat there and stared at her and tried to find an appropriate way to respond. I don't doubt that she has a deep connection with her dogs. I'm not even going to doubt that they -- or some spirit who blesses this aspect of her life -- facilitates the arrival of a new dear companion for her. But I had to struggle to not be offended by her equating my soul marriage with LM to a relationship with a pet.
She went on to insist -- firmly and lovingly -- that just because I could do fine on my own didn't mean that I should. My ability to take care of myself wasn't in question. The issue was my being able to once again experience the joy and comfort of partnership.
I let her talk, and I was gracious, but I continued to feel deep resistance.
It was only later that I realized that my resistance had more to it than my sense of allergic reaction to sharing myself or my life with another man.
( Visions of the Future )
